Russian Roulette
by Princess Sammi
Summary: In the end it was all just a game, and there could only be one winner. UPDATED JULY 2013 AND FINALLY COMPLETE!
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I don't own the Worst Witch and the few songs lyrics that will be used throughout belong to Rihanna's 'Russian Roulette' (Massive Ri-Ri fan, if you've not yet guessed :P)**

**A/N: This will probably be a couple of chapters long. Things may or may not be as they seem as I've not decided what happens yet (in true Sammi fashion ;) )**

**I'm not really counting this as a full songfic as I've only used parts of the song (as the full thing didn't fit) depending on where and if they fit into the text, so it is not in order. One of the lines I changed from he to she, as it made more sense to do so.**

**I'm almost using the idea of Russian Roulette as a metaphor; obviously they're not going to actually play RR (though there will be a battle). If I was going to do that, then I would hand HB a magnum, have her turn the gun on Heckitty and blow her brains out lol. **

**Wee shout out to the lovely Long Vodka for her support and fun chat * offers Miniature Heroes* :) **

**XxX**

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><p><strong><strong><strong>AN - Edited 2013- song lyrics removed. I've worried for some time about copyright laws and have thus made the decision to remove the lyrics from any writing I have done. :)******

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><p><strong><strong><strong><span>Russian Roulette: Chapter 1<span>******

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><p><em><strong>And you can see my heart, beating<br>You can see it through my chest  
>Said I'm terrified but I'm not leaving<br>I know that I must pass this test**_

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><p>It was always a game when it came down to Heckitty Broomhead; a game of life and a game of death. A game where there was only ever one winner.<p>

Her.

Yes, over the years she had played many a game and she had won. Every time. She was the kind of woman who made deals with the Devil, and then double crossed him.

Showing no mercy for the poor innocent souls she had stepped on along the way, she stomped down hard, ensuring they were broken; ensuring they were so broken they wouldn't get up again, ensuring she held the power over them. Many witches had met their end in this way, except from one. There was one witch who, no matter how much she was beaten down, somehow found the strength to get back up again and to carry on.

Constance Hardbroom.

Heckitty was deeply disappointed in her former protégée, to find her, after all this time, working in a second rate establishment like Cackle's Academy. The thought was almost laughable. She had shown so much promise; she'd had such a gift, such a talent, the ability to perform spells not yet learned by witches of double her young age. All that training she had given her was obviously going to waste, all that time she had spent building her Ice Queen clone, and with one word she could melt her to a mere puddle on the floor. It simply wasn't good enough.

As well as disappointment she also felt a deep seated anger towards Constance and the rest of the Academy. They had humiliated her! They had made a fool of her – Heckitty Broomhead- how dare they?! Her blood boiled; did they not know who they were dealing with?! And the almost smug underlying tone in Constance's voice as they had bid farewell enraged her.

Her hand remained still as she clutched the crystal brandy glass, downing the remains of the liquid; it slid down her throat with perfect ease. Pursing her thin lips together she rested the rim of the glass on her lip, as they curled into a lethal smile.

It was time to remind Constance Hardbroom just who was in control.

XxX

The storm tore through the air; the wind howled, like a lone werewolf out for the kill. Ready to destroy its surroundings, ready to destroy everything that stood in its path; the lightning crackled in the sky, the only source of light that flashed in the abyss on an otherwise dark night. Absent of the moon, absent of stars, lost in the anarchy that filled the skies above. Rain battered relentlessly off the window ledge as the torrential downpour flooded the ground below.

At the top of the mountain, its view almost obstructed by the tall trees in the forest, stood an old castle. The trees surrounding it standing proudly; like soldiers ready to protect it and its inhabitants from any impending danger. Despite the storm that raged just outside their door the residents of the castle slept soundly; peaceful dreams filled their slumber as they were transported to their dreamlike state, where they could let go of their cares, their worries and just sleep.

Yes, all were asleep, with the exception of one: their tower of strength, their pillar of hope, the most powerful witch they knew.

Constance Hardbroom.

It had been a long tiresome day: one which she never wished to repeat. One which had left her emotionally drained. She had prayed with all her might that she would never have to face her former tutor again, but, as always, luck was not on her side. She had reasoned with herself that by not thinking about her past, she could erase it from her memory, she had even half believed that she was starting to heal and put the demons of her youth to rest when _she_ had re-entered her life. Sweeping in like a tornado, out to cause destruction.

The minute she had heard the name, she had panicked. The minute she had came face to face with her; she had felt like she was back under her tutelage at College. It was as if nothing had changed; the piercing eyes watching her, judging her every move, desperate to find fault; the tremble she could not shake from her voice every time she was addressed by her. She had escaped her clutches all those years ago and she had just about escaped them again today.

Sitting clad in her purple pyjamas, her long dark hair cascading down her back; the curls framing her face, at her dressing table she picked up another jotter from the neat pile of the third years work, still awaiting marking. No matter how hard she tried to concentrate she couldn't focus on what she was supposed to be doing, her eyes were on the page but she couldn't tell you what the words said. Her mind was anywhere but on the task in hand.

After reading the same sentence no fewer than five times she finally gave in, throwing the pen against the mirror, angry at herself for losing her composure. Resting an elbow on the table and massaging her temples she attempted to ease the pounding headache she was currently experiencing: it was as if an army of drummers were present in her brain, all playing along to the same beat. Her thoughts muddled as the rhythm danced in her head, the upbeat tempo drowning out her working mind.

She sighed before conceding and making her way over to the bed, pulling back the immaculately smooth sheets, she climbed in pulling the covers tight around her, but with little intention of sleeping. Her eyes heavy, begging for sleep; the exhaustion, overwhelming but she daren't close them. Each time she did she was thrown back into memories, memories she had tried her hardest to forget.

The foul play of dark magic filled the air, she could sense it, but she couldn't stop it. An invisible force forcing her eyes to close, she was powerless. It dragged her into unconsciousness as if it were dragging her down into the depths of hell, throwing her into a snake pit of nightmares. She writhed and screamed in a frantic attempt to escape from her nightmarish hell. The flashes brief, the images vivid.

Her usual calm and collected composure abandoned as she fought to regain control of her mind. The tears spilling down her cheeks, the glistening beads of sweat perspiring on her porcelain skin.

A clock … a chime … a scream … a knife …

Using all the willpower she could find deep within her, she fought hard to escape the invisible reins of her nightmare. Without warning, suddenly she was thrust back into reality; her eyes wide, the droplets of water running from them like a tap that had been left on; her throat hoarse from screaming out; her heartbeat racing, beating so fast she could hear it against her ribcage. Taking a few slow and very shaky breaths she tried to calm herself down. She could feel it; another's presence in her head, laughing in her ears: a maniacal; evil laugh. One devoid of any emotion; devoid of any kind of empathy.

This was down to _her_.

She knew it.

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><p>Heckitty was never going to let her win. She was never going to let her have control; she was never going to let her be free. She'd haunted her throughout her time at WTC, and she was still haunting her now. The poisonous voice pierced deep into her skull, still taunting her; the talons, still firmly grasping her.<p>

It was at that moment that something suddenly snapped deep within her; whether it was the years of torture and anger building up inside her for all those years finally over spilling as it reached beyond boiling point; whether it her fear for the others at the Academy, she didn't know, perhaps it was a mixture of both? Her emotions tangled together in her mind.

Mildred Hubble came to the forefront of it, she would be loathe to admit it, but she saw so much of her younger self in Mildred and, though the girl had her faults, she showed so much promise and possessed such courage. The last thing Constance wanted was for Heckitty to get her poisonous claws into Mildred. She would destroy the girl; leave her nothing but an empty shell, a tortured soul, just like she had done with her. Sparks shot from her fingertips as her anger bubbled over, her eyes flashed furiously, the dangerous spark of a lioness determined to protect her young cub.

It was now or never. It was time. Time for the final battle: one would triumph, and the other would fall. Regardless of the outcome, there would be no going back.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I don't own the Worst Witch.**

**A/N: Thanks to everyone for the reviews so far :) I'm in a good mood today having added two new handbags a la Primark to my collection, so here is the second chapter. :)**

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><p><strong><span>Russian Roulette: Chapter 2<span>  
><strong>

Standing at the window, Constance looked out at the chaos that filled the air. The storm was still at large, still winning the war against anything that dared to get in its way, but even that didn't put her off. Nothing on this night could deter her. She felt like a phoenix, rising from the ashes. The adrenaline coursing through her veins, tingling with something she couldn't quite put her finger on.

Digging her fingernails deep into the stone of the window ledge she exhaled. The desire to end things once and for all, between her and the woman who had haunted her waking existence for longer than she cared to remember. Her desire for vengeance, for blood, so strong.

Right from that very first moment all those years ago when Heckitty's brutality had tainted her innocent skin; the first slap that had been delivered with such a force it had knocked her clean off her delicate frame; the first time she had drawn blood, the result of a vicious onslaught at the hands of Heckitty, who wouldn't listen as Constance had choked out her screams for mercy, her plea of innocence for the felony she knew nothing about, let alone had allegedly been responsible for; when she had left her lying there for hours on the cold stone floor, in absolute agony and solitary darkness.

Over time Heckitty had chipped away bit by bit until she had utterly destroyed the old Constance; until she had weakened her; until she had broken her: physically, mentally and emotionally. She had crushed her spirit in the same way one would crush a fly, extinguishing her spirit for life. Constance could remember a time when her brown eyes had sparkled intently, when everything around her had pleased her. She had loved to dance, she had loved the sun: then Heckitty had entered her life, a dark shadow blocking out the sunny rays desperately trying hard to shine through, an occasional glimmer still reflected, but overall it was just darkness.

As the years had gone by her soul had darkened, the wall she had built up to stop anyone from getting close to her and hurting her was practically impenetrable. Heckitty had made out like she was doing her a favour: telling her it was the only way to turn her into a 'good witch'; she hadn't given a damn about Constance as she had changed her from the carefree and innocent young girl she had once been to a carbon copy of herself.

Turning away from the window, she went over to the hook on the door and retrieved her black dressing gown; tying it around her she shook her hair loose and gathered it together so it fell on her right side, cascading like a rippling waterfall. A soft meow caught her attention and she turned to find the source.

Morgana was sitting curled up on the bed, her emerald green eyes staring at her mistress intently, silently pleading with her, not to do what she was thinking of doing. She stared back at possibly the only creature she had ever loved. It was if she knew what Morgana was thinking. Some witches developed an affiliation with their cats, a bond so strong and one look into the eyes of her feline friend caused her own deep brown ones to tear up.

"It's the only way" she whispered softly, reaching out to stroke her fur.

Dematerialising from her room she appeared in the Academy Courtyard, not even wincing as the sharp gravel dug into her bare feet, before making her way over to the Broomshed and grabbing her broomstick. A final strike of lightning shook the sky before it calmed; the winds eased and the rain stopped. Clearing a perfect path for her to reach her destination; delivering another mixed message, convincing her she was doing the right thing.

Taking one final look at the magnificent castle which lay before her, she commanded the broom to hover and took off elegantly into the night sky.

XxX

The place she hadn't been in over 20 years; the place she'd sworn never to set foot in again; the place she knew her former tutor still dwelled. Though it had long been closed as a school, the building still stood; tall and proud, there was something dark about it, like crossing the barrier into Lucifer's Lair.

As she landed in the grounds, she wrapped her dressing gown tighter around her slender frame; she didn't know if it was the bitter cold in the air or the shiver that tingled in her spine at the thought of being here again. It still looked the same; it still smelt the same; it still made her feel sick to the stomach at what lurked within.

It was deadly silent, not a soul was about. The leaves on the ground rustled in the slight breeze, she stepped forward and cursed to herself as there was a loud crunch from the leaves under her feet. She froze to the spot for a moment, looking cautiously around her, seeing she hadn't attracted any attention she tentatively made her way down the rest of the path.

Resting the broom against the stonewall outside she crept round to the side of the college, finding it unlocked as she had suspected. The lock had been broken for as long as she could remember, and her former tutor- always more egoistic than egalitarian -never spent any money to fix the College for the greater good, preferring instead to save it towards her retirement.

She tiptoed inside and down the corridor trying to ignore the sickness setting in her stomach, freezing to the spot when she heard the worn down heels getting closer and closer. Her palms felt clammy, her throat tightened as her fear kicked in. She took a deep breath best she could. She could do this. She had to do this. She could feel her heartbeat in her own ears; beating in perfect sync with the ticking of the many clocks which dominated the walls.

As midnight struck the chimes rang out, the bells tolling; signalling the beginning and the end.

The sound of the heels stopped and Constance looked around. Working her way down the final steps of the old spiral staircase Heckitty's eyes found Constance's: snakelike yellow collided with deep brown as the two sets locked. The steely determination present, the message clear: neither was going down without a fight.


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: I don't own the Worst Witch.**

**A/N: Thank you for all the reviews so far :)**

**Not quite sure when what will probably be the final chapter will be up as I haven't written it yet, and go back to Uni next week. And living up to the nickname I've given them, my uni has yet to send out the timetable for the new semester: S **

**Teeny bit worried about this chapter but here we go …**

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><p><strong><span>Russian Roulette<span>  
><strong>

**Chapter 3  
><strong>

Not a sound could be heard except from the ticking of the clocks as the two witches stared each other out; both gazes filled with a burning fire which danced within. The wind outside blew, a gentle breeze causing the trees surrounding the building to sway and their branches to rattle against the windows. The storm outside may have died away to nothing but inside the run down building, it was only just beginning.

"Well well well" Heckitty began in her brisk tones as she approached Constance; her worn out heels clicking against the stone floor with every step she took. It was a sound which had always chilled Constance to the core, one which still invaded her-not altogether suppressed-memories. It had always meant one thing: Heckitty was nearing her, and she had nowhere to run and nowhere to hide.

She tried to push that thought to the deepest corners of her mind; now was not the time to dwell on it, although she noted how the hairs on the back of her neck stood up when under the presence of the older witch. "I wondered how long it would take you to finally come" she made sure to emphasis the word 'finally', knowing how it would get to Constance. 'Finally' was a word she had used often; telling Constance when she had _'finally'_ done something right. It linked with failure, something which she had called Constance many times over the years she was under her tutelage. She knew Constance was a proud woman, and she knew that to be associated with failure would hurt her pride.

Knowing she was trying to goad her and refusing to rise to the bait Constance mentally counted to ten before replying, her glance never breaking from the demonic eyes which stared back at her.

"This ends here, and it ends now."

"As you wish dear" Heckitty's eyes flashed for a moment, the spark of pure evil rearing its head.

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><p>Raising their casting fingers the stage was set as the two witches prepared to battle it out; to duel, for the ultimate prize. It was here, it was now and there could only be one winner. Though old Heckitty Broomhead was remarkably quick for her age and a split second before Constance did, she fired a red bolt of energy straight at her, showing no mercy as she did so. Managing to dive out of the way and narrowly avoiding being hit by it, Constance countered the attack by sending a bolt of purple energy in her direction.<p>

Two lots of magic filled the air around them as they fought: one tainted and one pure. They were both perfectly matched. One would send a curse; the other would stop it and counter it, sending it back on her adversary. They were both incredibly powerful and both equally determined. The bolts of energy smashed into each other, creating a mesmerising pattern. Both were tiring and neither was winning, but neither was prepared to give in. Too much was at stake.

It was not an easy task, the pained expression on her face said as much; her aching limbs told the story. Increasing the intensity of her spell she managed to pierce through Heckitty's magic shield; the force of Constance's spell hit her and forced her to stagger back slightly as she collided with the stair banister, the wood slamming into her, winding her a little. She roared with fury, gripping one of the banisters with one hand, she concentrated all her efforts on Constance before sending an energy bolt straight at her with such a speed that Constance didn't have the time or the chance to move to avoid it.

It hit her in the abdomen, she doubled over in pain as the agony seared through her; she felt like it was on fire. Taking a deep breath she gathered every ounce of willpower she could muster to put the pain aside and focus, but was thrown from her train of thought when she was sent crashing unforgivably onto the stone floor after Heckitty, who decided to take advantage of her momentary lapse of concentration, booted her hard in the back of her leg, causing her to lose her balance and sending her sprawling into her current position. She had tried to hold on but after a few minutes her arms had given way and crumbled like pillars of sand, she hit the floor face first.

Walking over to her and circling her former protégée Heckitty placed her heel on Constance's wrist and pressed down hard, twisting her foot as she did so and relishing the sweet symphony of her former protégées scream as it echoed through the halls of the building, just like it had done all those years ago. Tears brimmed in her eyes, threatening to fall, she tried to hold them back but a solitary tear fell from its barricade as it trickled down her face, stinging slightly as it made contact with the cut on her cheek. Inside she cursed herself. In Heckitty's eyes, crying was the ultimate admittance of weakness.

Her lips curling into a cruel smile of satisfaction, she couldn't resist taunting Constance for showing the chink in her armour "There there" she cooed maliciously as she bent down to stroke her tears.

Constance didn't say anything; she had vowed not to be defeated by her, and certainly not like this.

Seizing her chance she grabbed Heckitty's wrist with her own undamaged one and began to twist it; Heckitty gasped as she felt the bone snap and momentarily dizziness wash over her. Throwing her leg out she managed to trip Heckitty up and sent her crashing onto the floor. The two witches continued to struggle: both fighting; one for control and the other for freedom.

Like a ravenous wolf Heckitty loomed over her; pinning her to the floor, her grip, strong and vicelike. The moon illuminated, bouncing off the silver blade of the knife in Heckitty's hand. Her eyes glistening like the blade. She brought it to Constance's throat. Constance swallowed, her throat dry like a sandy desert.

"Any last words Constance?" she asked as she traced Constance's collarbone with the blade, pressing in deeper with each passing moment, it would only be minutes before she would plunge the blade into her throat: killing her, and winning.

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><p>Constance couldn't answer, she was paralysed with fear. She saw her life flash before her: her rare and distant memories of a happy childhood; when she had played outside in the sun without a care in the world, when she had snuggled up with her Mother listening to her as she read her a fairytale, when she had twirled about her bedroom, happy and free.<p>

Then it had all changed.

Lightning shook the sky; the sun disappeared, never to be seen again, as Heckitty Broomhead turned up on her parent's doorstep. She saw the flames as they had tore through her childhood home; destroying everything, killing her parents; leaving her all alone at the hands of a monster. She saw the slaps and the magical onslaughts as Heckitty had pushed a young girl to the brink, she saw herself change throughout the years from that young girl as she was moulded into a carbon copy Ice Queen.

She saw Cackle's Academy.

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><p>She felt the blade tip towards her throat. The pressure was increasing. Was this how it was to end? Would she never see the sunrise again? It was one of the only luxuries she permitted herself: she would sit at the window every day watching as the sun rose; the myriad of colours merging into one: oranges, reds, yellows. The sunrise: the symbol of a new day, and of renewed hope.<p>

She remembered the hope she had felt when she had finally escaped from Witch Training College and the clutches of her evil tutor, when she had found her sanctuary at Cackle's Academy: it was the only place she had ever felt at home, dare she say, it was the only place she had ever felt happy.

Nothing made her feel more alive than when she was teaching; imparting knowledge into the young minds of her students, teaching them of the craft; her eyes sparkled intently when she spoke of magic, it tingled all her senses, it was her true pride and joy, to help them become the best witches that they could be.

Her colleagues; were like her extended family: Amelia, Davina and Imogen. She didn't always see eye to eye with them over certain issues, but she cared for them deeply, and would fight till the death to protect them. She pictured the Academy; her students; and her colleagues in her mind and inwardly smiled: she was doing this for them.

The knife was still hovering dangerously close to her throat, Heckitty was taunting her; enjoying having the control and power of making her sweat, savouring the knowledge that it was fully up to her when she plunged the blade into her throat, when she ended her life, the life she had always been in control of. Constance knew she had to be very careful how she went about doing this; one wrong move, and that would be it.

Catching Heckitty off guard she managed to free her arm from beneath her former tutor's weight and reached up to grab the knife but Heckitty held on fast, trying to twist it round to plunge it into Constance's heart, Constance battled with her for control of the knife; it twisted left and then right, and then left again, until she managed to grasp it with the edge of her fingers, it slipped out of her grasp and skated across the floor, hitting off the edge of the wall with a clunk. **  
><strong>

Their eyes collided again, locking for a split second as they ran to be the first to the knife. Constance got to it first and picked it up trying to ignore the shaking in her hand; she wasn't sure if it was anger or terror, wrestling Heckitty to the ground she held the blade over her but she couldn't do it.

Her conscience fought against her: one half telling her to go ahead and do it. Kill the Bitch who had ruined so much of her life; who had haunted her most of her days, and the other side, trying to reason with her; telling her not to become like her former tutor, not to give her the satisfaction. The knife hovered in her hand. She was torn; she didn't know what to do.

Heckitty, seeing she was confused, tried to goad her into it, to mess with her mind even further. "Go on. Do it" The snakelike eyes staring right into her soul.

Constance lowered the blade "I don't dance to your tune anymore" she whispered, Heckitty's eyes flashed malice as she grabbed for her wrist, Constance cried out and the struggle continued.

Their grip slackened...

... and the knife fell.

Every second slowed down, as time seemed to stop completely.

They both watched, frozen to the spot, unable to react as the knife plummeted downwards.

Closer...

Closer...

Closer...

Silence.

Then a scream pierced the air...


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: I don't own 'The Worst Witch.'**

**A/N: Well I seem to be on roll here, having been bitten by the inspiration bug and a year and a bit after last updating, here is the final chapter! I'm as surprised as you :P **

**After I'd posted the first chapter, I always knew where I wanted this to go (and almost went sort of Black Swan-esque with it, lol) but I was stumped for as long on how to actually get it there but I think I cracked it - to use one of my most used life sayings: better late than never. Lol.  
><strong>

**My next project will be to concentrate on both 'It Will Not Be Forgotten' and 'I Thought I'd Come So Far, But Maybe I Was Wrong.'**

**It's a draw your own conclusions kind of chapter and I hope you enjoy.**

***crosses fingers and holds out cookie tray* **

**:)**

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><p><span><strong>Russian Roulette<strong>

**Chapter 4**

_**Constance lowered the blade "I don't dance to your tune anymore" she whispered, Heckitty's eyes flashed with malice as she grabbed for her wrist, Constance cried out and the struggle continued.**_

_**Their grip slackened...**_

_**... and the knife fell.**_

_**Every second slowed down, as time seemed to stop completely.**_

_**They both watched, frozen to the spot, unable to react as the knife plummeted downwards.**_

_**Closer...**_

_**Closer...**_

_**Closer...**_

_**Silence.**_

_**Then a scream pierced the air...**_

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><p>Blood.<p>

So much blood pooled across the stone floor; the ruby red droplets glistening against the harsh moonlight. The precious jewel of life brought one-step closer to its demise.

Her body lay sprawled across the floor as her life force began to slip away; draining slowly, like the grains from a sand timer. A few grains clung onto the edge as they desperately fought the battle to keep her alive but it proved futile, only her willpower and stubbornness now acting as a last reserve.

Kneeling down next to her, she shakily reached for the knife, her fingers curling around the handle and pulling it out before letting it drop. It clattered to the ground with an almighty clang; the noise sounding much louder than it had actually been, due to the silence that befell them.

She could feel the walls closing in on her as she struggled for breath. She could still hear the scream that had fallen from her lips. It echoed in her ears, cutting right through her mind in one long piercing howl; like a wounded animal calling out for help.

_Panic._

It rose within her.

_Guilt._

What had she done?

What was she going to do?

She could feel the witch staring at her; could feel her eyes on her, those eyes that had so often burned into her own, the piercing gaze that was capable of tearing deep into her soul and extracting everything from it, but not this time. This time there was something different within that gaze as her eyes silently pleaded for the help that her lips would never ask for.

Sweeping her hair back with her hand and blinking away a few loose tears that fell, she slowly got to her feet, holding eye contact for a few moments that felt more like a lifetime before she slowly began to back away, her eyes never leaving that of her former tutor's, not even for a second. She continued to back away and then she turned...

...and ran.

She ran as if her life depended on it.

She ran to escape the thoughts plaguing her mind.

She ran through the halls of the college; halls that she had once walked down. She ran to the front entrance, ran into the grounds, ran to where she had left her broom and then she stopped, picking the broom up, her hands shaking so much she could barely command it to hover.

_Please. Please. Please._

Finally, obeying its command the broom hovered in the air and mounting it as quickly as she had ever done she commanded it to fly and away she flew: away from the scene of the crime.

She didn't know where she was going.

She didn't know where she could go.

She just flew.

She must have flown for hours for she had no idea where she was but it wasn't somewhere she recognised so she figured that she must be far on the other side of town. Raising a hand, she wiped away the tears she could not stop from pouring down her cheeks, blanching in horror at the blood that stained her hands.

_Splat._

Looking down at the broom she noticed little droplets of blood spattering on it and slowly looked up at the sky, to see it was raining.

It was raining blood.

It was everywhere.

There was no escape.

It started so quiet at first. A whisper in her ear, like a gentle gust of wind barely gracing the ether but she heard it and then it got louder and louder...one word over and over; again and again.

_'Murderer.'_

She watched as the redness slowly began to spread over her hands, covering every inch until they were completely tainted. It was as if she had just dipped her hands in red paint but it wasn't as easy to wash off; and neither was the guilt. She couldn't take anymore. Holding her hands up in the air as a sign of defeat, she screamed into the night's sky.

"STOP IT! STOP IT! STOP IT! JUST STOP IT!"

"I'M SORRY! ALRIGHT! I DIDN'T MEANT IT! IT JUST-"

"Please...just stop...please."

Screaming in such a distress and desperation, her emotions were so frantic that she lost her balance. She realised that she was no longer holding onto the broom, no longer holding onto anything. It was then she fell.

Her scream echoing as she plummeted downwards and into the abyss.

* * *

><p>Constance jolted awake with a start.<p>

Her heart felt it would burst from her chest, her mind was racing and it took her a few moments to catch up and process exactly where she was. Once it had, she was surprised, a little confused and extremely relieved to find she was in her bed, in her chamber, in Cackle's Academy.

'A nightmare...it was just a nightmare.' she muttered to herself but deep down she wasn't sure she was convinced.

She had to know.

She had to know whether- god, she couldn't even bear to think the sentence, let alone say it aloud...

Looking down to her hands they were clean, she turned over her palms to find that her skin was still snowy white; there was no sign of the bloody substance that had stained them only moments before but still she didn't move. Instead, she just stared at her hands as if lost in a complete trance. Her brown eyes were like a rabbit caught in the headlights; wide-eyed and frightened as she struggled to believe if anything had really happened or not.

A sudden wave of nausea rose in the back of her throat and throwing back the covers, she dived out of bed, racing for the bathroom, where she got there just in time.

* * *

><p>Heckitty Broomhead merely smiled as she swirled the remnants of the brandy in her glass.<p>

That ought to teach Constance Hardbroom, for a while at least...

Although Constance had initially escaped from the magical nightmare she had created, Heckitty had refused to let her be, refused to stop toying with her little plaything just yet and as a result had soon dragged the witch into a much deeper nightmare. One that was much more vivid than the last and this time, she really had been powerless to stop it. Powerless as Heckitty had invaded her subconscious and played on her every fear.

Ah, the power.

The control.

She lived and breathed it.

Noticing how her glass was almost empty, and rather in the mood for celebrating, she stood to go over and refill it, when she felt something pool at her abdomen. Reaching out to touch it her horrified eyes took in the sticky substance that stained her fingers.

Blood.

A strangled gasp escaped from her throat as she slowly looked down to the see the knife embedded in her. Her legs gave out beneath her, she fell to her knees before collapsing to the floor, and there she lay.

The blood continued to pool from the wound; the ruby red droplets glistening against the harsh moonlight as the precious jewel that was life was brought one-step closer to its demise.

The final step.

* * *

><p>She took another sip from her water; the liquid cooling as it soothed the nausea that had burned in the back of her throat. She was starting to feel slightly calmer and her heart rate had almost gone back to normal. Raising the glass to her lips she was about to take another sip when she noticed that something wasn't right.<p>

Switching the glass to her other hand she let out a small squeak as she noticed her bloody fingerprints staining the crystal of the glass.

It was then she noticed the mirror.

It seemed to glow for a few seconds before it stopped.

* * *

><p>The glass fell from her grasp and shattered to the floor, smashing into millions of tiny pieces as the words appeared before her; trickling down the frosted glass in fresh blood.<p>

_'You Win.'_


End file.
